in are not in a
state of natural sleep; we shall rather refer to the condition of the
brain during what we may call 'doziness,' and also to the effects
sometimes produced by disease on the imagination and the senses.

We all know that in a state of 'doziness,' any accidental or
ridiculous image which happens to suggest itself, will remain in the
mind much longer than in a wakeful condition. A few slight, shapeless
marks on the ceiling will assume the form of a face or a full-length
figure; and strange physiognomies will be found among the flowers on
the bed-curtains. In the impressible and passive state of the brain
left by any illness which produces nervous exhaustion, such
imaginations often become very troublesome. Impressions made on the
brain some time ago will now reappear. Jean Paul Richter cautions us
not to tell frightful stories to children, for this reason--that,
though the 'horrible fancies' may all be soon forgotten by the
healthful child, yet afterwards, when some disease--a fever, for
instance--has affected the brain and the nerves, all the dismissed
goblins may too vividly reproduce themselves. Our experience can
confirm the observation. Some years ago, we went to a circus, where,
during the equestrian performances, some trivial popular airs were
played on brass instruments--cornets and trombones--dismally out of
tune. Now, by long practice, we have acquired the art of utterly
turning our attention away from, bad music, so that it annoys us no
more than the rumble of wheels in Fleet Street. We exercised this
voluntary deafness on the occasion. But not long afterwards, we were
compelled, during an attack of disease which affected the nervous
system, to hear the whole discordant performance repeated again and
again, with a pertinacity which was really very distressing. Such a
case prepares us to give credit to a far more remarkable story,
related in one of the works of Macnish. A clergyman, we are told, who
was a skilful violinist, and frequently played over some favourite
_solo_ or _concerto_, was obliged to desist from practice on account
of the dangerous illness of his servant-maid--if we remember truly,
phrenitis was the disease. Of course, the violin was laid aside; but
one day, the medical attendant, on going toward the chamber of his
patient, was surprised to hear the violin-solo performed in rather
subdued tones. On examination, it was found that the girl, under the
excitement of disease, had imit